Page 38 of Irrevocably

But her fingers creep beneath the cotton of my tee and she brushes my bare skin, and this time I can’t help myself. I turn sharply, grab her wrists, push her down on the bed and pin her there.

She’s breathing fast, her face flushed. The quilt has slipped, revealing her pretty tits and those hard little nipples, and when my gaze falls helplessly to them, I know I’ve betrayed myself.

Fuck. She’s a thorn in my side and I’m a fool for letting her be one.

“Shall we go and visit your father now?” I demand roughly, trying to get back on track. “He’ll wonder why you’re naked, but I’ll tell him if you like.”

“No, wait. Let me ask him.” Her gaze never wavers from mine. “Give me another couple of days to talk to him.”

“I already gave you two. Why should I give you more, when I can get it from him now?”

“You really think he’ll tell you?”

“He will if I have my knife at your throat.”

Our gazes are locked, tension seething in the air around us. I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue with her. I don’t know why I haven’t headed into the chief’s bedroom already. But … she’s warm and half-naked, and I can’t bring myself to let her go. How she’s managed to get under my skin like this, I have no idea, but she has.

“You really want him to see you?” she shoots back. “To know your face? You could kill him afterwards, I guess. But killing the chief of police would draw attention and I’m guessing that’s not what you want.”

I take a breath. She’s not wrong. Killing him would be an unnecessary complication. Besides, that would then involve a replacement who wouldn’t be so understanding of the MC’s operation, which is exactly what we don’t want. “Two more days, then,” I say, deciding. “That’s all you’re getting.”

She gives a small nod, but doesn’t look away, and I don’t release her. I don’t know how she managed to get a concession from me when I don’t give concessions to anyone, but again, she has.

My anger at myself tightens, but I shove it away. It’s another dangerous emotion I can’t afford to indulge. Anger leads to mistakes and I can’t have any more of those, not tonight.

I should go. I push myself away from her without a word, but lean down and kiss her mouth hard. I taste her blood from that last nip, feel her shiver, and the desire curls around my throat and squeezes.

It’s a close-run thing, but I hold out against it. I can’t do this again, not when there is this weakness inside me. This weakness for her.

I lift my head and stare down at her for one last moment. Then I push myself off her and leave without a word.

It’s not until I get home that I realise my knife is missing.

Chapter Nineteen

ASTRID

I sit on my bed, wrapped in my patchwork quilt. Lucien has gone. He just left without a word, and my mouth is throbbing from where he bit it, and I’m sore between my legs, and everything has changed. Including me.

I can’t stop thinking about Lucien’s hard, tattooed body. His cock driving into me. The blaze of blue in his eyes. The intensity of my orgasm as it swept through me.

First times are supposed to be awkward and hesitating, at least that’s what I heard from Rowan. How you just get it over with, because it gets better after that. But my first time… It wasn’t awkward or hesitating. There was no gentleness or tenderness, or anything else. Just a blinding pleasure/pain that seemed to reach into my soul and squeeze tight.

They also say that you don’t feel any different afterwards, but I do. I feel as if I’ve been changed in some fundamental way and Lucien is the one who changed me. He altered my brain chemistry, and I have a horrible feeling that I’ll never be the same again.

A fuck is just a fuck, Astrid.

His voice echoes, hard and flat, the flames in his eyes already going cold. No, it wasn’t just a fuck, not to me, and I don’t think it was for him, either. Unless he offers to give pain to all his conquests. He might. He’s just the kind of guy who would, so maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was just a fuck for him, and I’m the one wanting it to be more than that.

He didn’t like me touching him, though, that was for sure. When he sat on the bed and put his boots on, his back was to me and the way the light fell over his ink made it clear that there were scars on his skin. His back was covered with them, with ink layered over the top. They were old scars, and when I touched that one, he tensed.

Who is he? What happened to him? And why do I care? Especially when he was fully prepared to drag me into Dad’s bedroom and hold a knife to my throat to get my father to tell him what he knows. I had to bargain for more time, and he wasn’t going to give it to me, but … he changed his mind.

Why? Was it for my sake? He was angry, that much I could see before he left, but whether he was angry at me or at himself, I have no idea.

I reach out and slide my hand under the pillow where I hid his knife. I got it out of his boot when he got rid of the condom, and I’m not even sure why. I draw it out and hold it in my hands. The blade is wickedly sharp, the wooden hilt smooth. It looks well handled, well used. This was what he used to kill the man in the parking lot, and maybe I’ll use it on myself. He told me to come to him for pain then refused, so now I’ve got the next best thing. I’ll use his knife to let out the fear next time.

A shiver goes through me. I can still feel him everywhere: inside me, on my skin, his flavour on my tongue. And I’m hungry. I want more.